My Name is Phoenix
by L.Lawliet.Lover
Summary: "My life was far from normal. I took classes far above my age level, I lived in an extreme orphanage that drilled me to the core, and I solved murder cases with other children. It was a life I had grown used to, however abnormal it may seem. But one night changed everything for the worse. For on Friday, November 20th, 1998, I witnessed a murder." OC story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **What is with me and OC stories. I need to quit writing them and get some better inspiration. Oh well. This my third one to be uploaded to this site, and I have to say, I like this one the most. It will be following my OC, Phoenix, and Beyond. It is _not _a Whammy's fic. However much it might seem like one at first, it isn't. Though it might become a pairing fic. Depends. If it does, then it will be OCxBB.

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My name is Phoenix.

My life wasn't something you would call oridinary. It wasn't ordinary to be deemed a genius by some old man and taken to an orphange. It wasn't ordinary to live in that super-orphanage that drills you to the core to work to their expectations. It wasn't oridnary to be only fifteen years old and be taking college-level calculus and college-level chemistry. It wasn't ordinary to work with groups of children to solve minor murder cases. Nothing about it was ordinary.

It was a life that I have grown used to living, though.

My parents died in a car accident when I was three years old. I don't remember them, not clearly at least. I knew they were caring people who loved me very much. It was my mother who had been the one to shield my fragile body right before our car collided with another head-on, paying the ultimate price so that I would live.

I was taken into custody by the police, who then transferred my ownership to a small orphanage. This was home sweet home until I was six. I was then adopted into a foster home, where I live until I was nine. Both households were wonderful; everyone was very generous. Most people are, though. We're just pitiful little orphans in their eyes, after all.

I was intelligent. They never denied that. School was a piece of cake to me, so my foster mother just home-schooled me. I flew through middle school and high school courses without breaking a sweat. By the time I was nine, I had nearly half of my high school credits knocked out. Technically I was an eleventh grader in intelligence. Remember, I was only nine.

Word caught on somehow. Maybe this old guy got a tip from the company who sends me my courses, or maybe he heard from the community. It doesn't matter how it happened. On a cloudy afternoon one September day, a man who called himself Roger stopped by to talk to me. He talked to me as if I was an adult. I was surprised; most people didn't. I certainly don't look it.

"How would you like to go to a super school?" he had asked softly after a while of conversation. His slightly wrinkled face was leaning against his fist as he looked at me through shining glasses. "A school that has everything you would ever need to live your life to the fullest."

I had tipped my head, my purple eyes filled with confusion. "A super school? But I can't leave Ms. Phelps. She's single and likes my company."

"So you're saying you would like to?"

I had fidgeted in my seat and twirled my orange hair a bit anxiously, my gaze flicking downwards. "Yeah, but..."

"Then you should."

"I'll hurt her feelings!" I protested when I had watched him stand and approach the doorway where my foster mother was waiting on the other side.

She had opened the door abruptly, smiling sweetly. She was a woman in her late fifties, a woman who was certainly not fit to raise a child but did so completely out of her own generosity. Her husband had died years ago by some horrible, freak accident and she had never had the heart to marry again. She treated me as if I was her own daughter, which was warming as much as it was welcoming.

"You can't hurt my feelings, Piper." My name always sounded so caring coming from her. She almost reminded me of a grandmother, never quite scolding you, and always trying to give you what you want most. "I know that I'm getting to where I can't monitor your schoolwork anymore. Not that you like doing it, anyway. It bores you; you said it yourself the other day. I'm not going to stand in the way of you going with him, if what he says is true."

Roger had nodded. "It is indeed genuine. It's on the other side of the country, but I can have a plane ride arranged. Completely free of charge. We're trying to locate gifted orphans and give them second chances in our academy."

"So Piper would live there?"

"Yes."

She had looked at me. "Well, you better pack your things."

After a bit of arguing, my foster mother had convinced me to depart across the country to this eccentric orphanage known as Whammy's House. It is very odd in appearance, quite intimidating, really. It looks like an old, Victorian mansion that was transformed into an orphanage. The interior was furnished with old, classy furniture. It gave a sophisticated air to the entire building. Even our dorm rooms had a rich, high class mahogany bunk bed and dressers to match. Everything appeared like heaven.

But every heaven has a bit of hell.

This orphanage... It _killed _people. Not literally, no. But the pressure of trying to come out on top, trying to surpass the rest to be crowned smartest child at Whammy's... For some of them it was just too much. Children weeped nightly, their cries echoing throughout the halls. Many were clinically depressed and required medication. Some ripped their own hair out of simple frustration... The old house held a lot of sorrow inside its classy shell.

I was not among the select few. No, I knew my place here at Whammy's House. I was definitely not amongst the orphanage's elite. Perhaps I placed thirteenth on the list of intellects, but you can forget being admired unless you're in the top three. Everyone strived to surpass that trio.

First there was A. Also known as Alternate, as in an _alternate_ version of L, or Able, someone _able_ to become L, A was the smartest child at our home-sweet-home. To the rest of the orphanage, he was known as Ace. But the professors and administrators called him Alternate.

B came in second. He was called Backup. A backup version of L and A. The rest of us called him Beyond.

Placing third was K, also known as Kagami. Kagami translated to _mirror_, as in a_ reflection_ of A and B. If they were to fall, then she would reflect them and take their place. We called her Karma.

A, B, and K. Those three were looked up to.

Oh, did I not explain? To make everything even more confusing, we go by a letter code. At least the smartest of each letter does, anyway. The letters are then arranged from smartest to dumbest. I am the smartest child with a name beginning with P, so therefore I am referred to as P to Roger and the proffessors. On top of all that, we go by aliases. Forget Piper, my name of nine years. I had to throw that away. Roger had said that it's to protect our identities. Just in case someone were to want to track us. Kill us, even. We're that important, he had said.

My alias is Phoenix. A mythological bird that rises from the ashes many times to start anew. I think it's symbolic, in a way. I was reborn upon entering Whammy's. I was given a career direction and a motive. I was treated as a college student, not a elemantary kid. While the pressure was enough to make any normal child explode, I managed to keep myself calm. But believe me, I had my fair share of breakdowns. I think everyone here has.

Perhaps if they didn't weigh us down so hard then we wouldn't break so easily. There's even more to this whole twisted orphanage. This man who called himself L was apparently a former student here who's very famous now. World's greatest detective, apparently. _Everyone_ worshipped him. I admired him a bit myself, but some of them took it to extremes.

L talked to us sometimes over a computer, and it was usually the same group of children talking to L, not letting the rest of us speak. Not even A or B, the orphange's smartest, got to talk. I don't think they minded, though. L was very much aware that they existed, considering he was thinking about letting them be the heir to his fame and fortune.

Well, A was going to, anyway. L only cared about the sharpest knife in the drawer. Suppose you were point one percent duller. Well, even the slightest difference stood out, and L skipped right over you. B, despite being an insanely intelligent child, was overlooked because of A. Sometimes I felt he held a grudge over A... But then again, B was never one to do such things. He was a very quiet existence. Speaking, but not really ever getting involved in social activities.

A was quite the opposite. A, Alternate, he had also been called, was very outgoing. He reached out to people like B, tried to get them to be more involved. Most people detested him, thinking he was only trying to rub his stature in everyone's faces, but that wasn't his motive at all. Alternate/Able/Ace/A only wanted to encourage the rest of the students to work to their full potential. His hard work was often ignored.

Sun-up to sundown we worked. We got a two hour recess period at three in the afternoon, an hour lunch break, and an hour dinner break. But the rest of the time was either spent in the classrooms or in the investigation room. I was never exactly one to spend time in the investigation room. Maybe now and then I'd drop by and partner up with someone to convict a suspected murderer, but it wasn't on my daily list of activities. That room was normally solely occupied with the L worshippers, so I didn't want to stand in their way.

"I solved two cases today!"

"So? I solved five!"

Doesn't matter. A and B could knock out the entire stack in a day if they wanted to. But that room was filled with amateur cases, and they were far above that level. The most I've ever solved was ten, but I had help from O. They could solve them with their hands tied behind their backs. I was in no way a skilled detective. But that didn't mean I was normal on any sense.

Especially not after that one night.

My life was extraordinary. I was only fifteen and I took college level calculus and college level chemistry. I lived in a super-orphanage that drilled me to the core to work top their expectations. I was deemed a genius and brought to live at this orphanage. I had worked with other children to solve murder cases. Nothing was ordinary. Yet I had grown accusstomed to this odd lifestyle.

But one day was going to change everything. One mistake. Something that I wouldn't have had to witness, had I not wanted to use the bathroom late at night. If I had passed that one door five minutes later, my life would be different.

My name is Phoenix.

And on Friday, November 20th, 1998, I witnessed a murder.

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**A/N: **This is more of an opening. I tried to get most of how she got to Whammy's over with, how she is viewed, and how my version of Whammy's runs. Next chapter should be up fairly soon, though it doesn't take a genius to figure out who was murdered.

For anyone concerned about my other two OC fics: _Medical Murders_ bored me, so I never got around to writing more. As for _Sight_, I'm stuck. I'm in the dark on how to proceed and when the next update will be, so until then, it is on hiatus. Apologies. I hope you like this one.

Review?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I know you guys love fast updates, so I worked with the best of my ability to get a quick one out to you guys. Here's chapter two. Thank you so much, those who reviewed/favorited/followed. It means a lot. Oh, and just so you know, the girl in the picture is supposed to be Phoenix. I didn't draw it though, so don't be giving me any credit.

Well, enjoy~

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I've never killed anyone. I might have had thoughts about it when I was especially angry, but I haven't ever considered going through with such a gruesome action. I had spent six years of my life surrounded by children who held the law and justice close. So why would I fear of encountering such coldblooded things in our own home? That's just it. I didn't. I never once dreamed that something like this would happen. But it happened.

Oh, it happened.

It was a quarter after midnight. A few of us had actually drifted to sleep that night, but many were still awake. It was an especially cold night, the night of November 20th, 1998. A chilly wind blew threw our dormrooms, and made my roommate, Q, and I shiver under our blankets. We weren't trying to sleep, though. Placement tests were coming up soon, so we were studying with all we have. We quite liked the one letter title that we had earned. It might not seem to be much, but whenever a professor referred to me as P, a spark of excitement ignited in the pit of my stomach. And I was certainly not ready to let another P march in and snatch that title away from me.

Q yawned suddenly from beside me, her eyes drowsy behind her black rimmed glasses. "...Okay... So, where were we, Phoenix?"

I blinked down lethargically at my own textbook. "We're on...f(x) = sqrt (x 2 - 2 x + 1) ."

"Ugh..." Q grumbled and pulled out her calculator. We were sitting on her bunk, which was the one under mine. The lights had been dimmed by Roger so the outside of the orphanage didn't light up like a Christmas tree, so we had to use a small candle for most of our light.

Buttons were pressed and words were written. We were racing to see who exactly could finish the problem first. A silent competition. But competition wasn't exactly a bad thing. It pushed us and motivated us to work faster, while still getting the right answer.

Naturally, I came up with the answer first. I recited the answer in a book definition-like manner. "The limits of f ' as x approaches 1 from the left and from the right are not equal and therefore f is not differentiable at x = 1. In conclusion, f is differentiable everywhere except for x = 1."

Q rubbed her dark brown eye from under her glasses. "Yeah, that sounds right..." She yawned again, this time longer. When it was over, she closed her textbook lazily. "I can't study anymore, Phoenix. I'm about to collapse."

I closed my textbook as well and stretched my arms out so that the tips of my fingers brushed against the wooden bunk. "Well, you health is definitely more important than some grade. We'll just call it night." I pushed the warm, wool blanket off of my legs, immediately met with the chilly air. I shivered but managed to shuffle off of the bunk.

Q nodded and delicately took off her glasses before placing them on her night stand. She fell back on the bed like someone who had fainted and pulled the covers slowly over her tired body. "'Night, Phoenix..."

"Goodnight, Quill," I answered as I put my books back on my bunk. Sleep could wait; I'll just continue on my own.

Just as I was about to climb on top of the mahogany bunk, a tingly sensation was felt in the lower regions of my body. I suddenly had the strong urge to relieve myself. I sighed and retracted my arms from their grip beside the mattress. It was times like this that I wished we had personal bathrooms for each dorm. The walk to the girl's restroom was a long walk down the corridor. Not to mention I could get in trouble if I got caught out after eleven...

I considered just ignoring it and moving on, but then the pressure increased, making me almost antsy with the unbearable feeling. All other feelings aside, I decided that running into Roger wouldn't be as bad as wetting the bed.

"I'll be back, Quill. I have to use the restroom," I said to my half-asleep roommate as I turned towards the dark, wooden door.

"Mmm..." she mumbled incoherently in reply.

Careful not to make too much noise, I twisted the brass doorknob slowly before pulling it back towards me. I creeped through the small space it created before closing the door behind me. So far so good. You see, here at Whammy's we go by a strike system. Every time we're caught doing something wrong, you get a strike. Well, if you get three strikes in six months, then you're kicked out of Whammy's. Certainly not something you would want to face as a homeless, family-less orphan. I already had two strikes against me for the six months, but I had some confidence that I wouldn't get caught. Roger is usually out cold by ten-thirty, so the only thing that would get me caught was another student tattle-tale-ing. We tended to look out for each other, though, so it was unlikely.

I slowly crept down the long, wooden cooridor, careful to stay solely on the long stretch of maroon carpet in the middle. The old boards creaked lowly under my weight, but I tried to be careful and move very slowly, moving only on my tip toes. Faint chit-chat could be heard as I passed some of the dorms.

"Over 99.94% of an what item's mass is concentrated in the nucleus?" One child asked as he questioned the another.

Atom, of course. Too easy.

"Um... Atom, right?"

"Nice job, Flick! Now we move to German."

Similar things could be heard as I traveled down the long corridor. As I got near the end, however, things grew quieter. K, A, and B were housed down here, so it's likely that they're already asleep. K got a dorm all to herself, since she thinks better in solitude, while A and B roomed together. I never understood why; they are complete opposites. Oh well, you know what they say. Opposites attract. Perhaps even in the most unnatural of duos.

I neared their dorm, which was surprisingly slightly cracked. The lights were dimmed as well. Not completely off, but on just enough so a faint stream of light trailed into the hallway. A shadow passed through that stream of light as I neared it, probably just A or B getting something. I was curious, however. I've always wanted to speak with them, but I've never really had the courage to. A was too outgoing, and B was too antisocial. I was more in the middle, but not social enough to talk to strangers with such zeal that he does.

Is their dorm messy? Are they studying? Why are they awake? These nosy thoughts on my mind, I peered inside.

What I saw was chilling.

Their bunk was pushed against the far wall and had A sleeping on the bottom bunk. He seemed quite peaceful, with his sandy blonde hair slightly disheveled and his brown freckles splashed on his profile. They too had lit a candle, and the light flickered, dancing off of his face.

Then there was B. The antisocial genius loomed over the sleeping A, his baggy, long-sleeved black shirt hanging loosely over his frame. His thick, smooth obsidian hair completely contrasted with his unnaturally white hand, which was tightly gripping a shiny, black revolver. You heard me right. A revolver.

Were we even allowed to have those here? Where had he gotten one? Why was he holding it?

A million questions flew through my mind as I clutched the doorframe. If I listened close enough, I could here the soft cackling from B as his body shook lightly. With a shaky hand, he raised the gun to point directly at B's head. He then retracted it.

"No, wait, that won't work..." I heard him mumble insanely to himself.

He then sat down at the foot of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He grabbed A's hand and wrapped it around the revolver. I expected him to wake up, but for some strange reason he continued sleeping. My genius mind immediately went to sleep aids. Drugs? But A didn't take those. Not that I knew of. He wasn't among the group of insomniacs... At least I didn't think he was. I could be wrong. Not like that mattered now, not when his seemingly crazy roommate had his hand wrapped around a gun. B then took A's own hand and positioned the revolver at the blonde's temple.

...Wait, why am I watching this? Why aren't I helping A? Reality slammed back into my body, and at that moment I realized I hadn't even been breathing.

Panting in exhilaration as adrenalin pumped through my veins, I busted into the dorm as quickly as I could. "Beyond...!"

He brought his black orbs up to eye me, and I swear at that moment they flashed an evil red. His soft pink lips, which were always so plain, so emotionless, contorted into a Cheshire-like smile. "Too late, Phoenix. Too late."

"No, wait, Beyond, stop, don't...!" A broken sentence burst out of my mouth, a single, slightly tanned hand reaching out towards B's hand. I watched helplessly as one of the ghostly fingers pulled the trigger backwards.

A muffled bang bounced off the walls of the room. He must have used a silencer of some sort, because I was standing halfway across the bunk and I barely heard it. Not like it matters. Because whether it was the sound of the soft whirring of a laptop, or the ear-shattering sound of a jet engine of a plane, it was a gunshot nonetheless.

The bullet had penetrated his right temple, causing the flesh there to misshapen. There was a hole burned in the entry point itself, scarlet blood trickling out of the wound and down the side of A's face. Brain and skull matter was splattered against the beige wall behind him and blood splattered on the pillowcase, on the wall, and on B and A's hands. One scarlet drop of the splatter had landed on B's cheek, which he smeared with his finger and brought down to his pale lips to taste. He smacked his lips, a satisfied look reflecting in his eyes.

I suddenly felt sick. I felt very sick. My head whirled with sudden dizziness, and I could feel my dinner from six hours prior climbing up my throat. My legs were suddenly like jello, holding no support to my body as I collapsed on my knees. Everything was a blur. I could see B walking over to the door, which I had left open, and closing it, but it felt like he was moving in a frame by frame motion. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. A lump was in my throat and tears started to stream down my face. All of these conflicting emotions... I didn't know what to do with them. I've never witnessed a murder. I didn't want to witness a murder.

B placed the gun back in in A's hand, and then decided to tamper a bit more with the body. Acting as if I wasn't even in the room. I even thought I heard him humming a tune, something cheerful, something you would hear off of a children's show. He smiling still. I don't even think he was smiling when he was deemed number two on the placement test. But here and now, having committed a coldblooded murder, he was smiling.

I cleared my throat, trying to find the strength in my shocked body to form a sentence. It was hard; my throat was dry and seemed to be fighting any noises back. Finally I got out a choked, "Why?"

B blinked up from what he was doing, which was applying some chemical to A's body, appearing slightly amused. "What was that?"

"Why," I repeated again, stronger this time. I tilted my head upwards, fiery purple eyes meeting smug obsidian. "Why did you do it?"

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**A/N: **Dun dun dun. I could have left you on a worse cliffhanger, so don't complain. Next chapter should be out within two days or so. Or maybe even tomorrow. Depends on if I'm in a writing mood or not.

(I hope the gunshot wound wasn't too violent for a rated T fanfiction. I don't think it was. It's not like I went into too gruesome of detail. Innards weren't ripped out, corneas weren't clawed, and arteries weren't gushing blood, so I think I'm okay.)

Review? I love them. Even if it's negative, feedback is feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

**I haven't been on here in quite some time, but I need to clean some files off my computer. Also I think you guys deserve at least a little bit more after I promised a lot more. To be short, I'm not going to be visiting this account much anymore. But I am putting all of my documents, be it complete or not, on this account so I can delete the files off of my laptop. So, although it's incomplete, I hope you enjoy it.**

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It was truly one of the - no the most horrifying moment of my life. Murder, coldblooded murder right before my eyes. One of my idols killing another. It's just something I feel one should never have to witness if they had a say in it. I wish I wasn't in the room when it happened.

I often look back at that day and ponder what I could have done to change the outcome. Why did I have to look inside their room? Why did I have to stand there and watch them? Why didn't I just run away instead of getting myself involved? Why, why, why... I won't ever find the answer to those questions. But one can imagine.

Imagining is for much, much later, though.

I was sitting in a disheveled heap on the floor, sobbing into my own arms. Sobbing why? Beats me. I was never friends with A nor had I any romantic feelings towards him. Perhaps the immense sorrow of witnessing one's young life being put to an end by another is enough to cripple me.

I had gathered enough courage to face the problem head-on after wasting a minute or so in shock. The problem was Beyond. He was the problem. He was the murderer. He was the coldblooded killer. I blinked away my tears and brought my fiery, purple eyes up to B's smug, obsidian orbs. I was going to make this count. It's hardly effective if you don't look angered, after all.

"Why..." I muttered angrily up at the raven murderer. "Why did you do it?"

The person I was addressing just chuckled softly. "You mean you cannot figure it out on your own?"

I blinked, feeling insulted. "Well, at the moment I can conclude that you did this so you could be number one. Right?"

"That and... many other reasons." He pulled one of the ghostly white latex gloves off of his hand using a kitchen rag - so that's why his hands were that unnatural in color. Sure, B has always been unnaturally pale, but what I saw was stretching it.

"Jealousy does not and will not ever justify murder," I spat. It was hard to believe that I compared him to the rest of the law-abiding children in the orphanage. Sickening. I felt disgusted with myself.

"I think you might be mistaken. I was never jealous of Alternate." He brushed sandy blonde hair out of A's freckled face that was slowly draining in color. "After all, how can I be jealous of someone I'm better than?"

I snorted as I watched him pull off his other latex glove using the same kitchen rag. "You? Better than Ace? I think you read the exam scores wrong."

B cackled softly to himself as he wrapped the gloves into the rag. "The exams. Please. Those mean nothing to me."

"Elaborate?" As much as I hated actually having a conversation with this guy, testimony is testimony. I would think that B would be smarter than to let information out freely like this. It will certainly be his downfall.

"L knows as well as I do that I'm classified as a psychopath," B explained hatefully, his eyes mirroring his tone. "Our world's greatest detective can't have a psychopath succeeding him. So while my scores are and always will be better than his, L still put me below Alternate because of that very reason."

"So you murdered him because of it?"

B shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away from me. "...Like I said, that and many other reasons." He was suddenly very secretive. Suspicious.

"Well, that's awful!" I nearly yelled and pushed myself up to face him, clenching my fists in anger. "I bet if you had just told Ace you wanted to be L, he would have let you. Ace wasn't even interested in being a detective!"

"Heh..." B snickered under his breath; I could catch the corners of his mouth pulled into a smirk even from here. "As I said before, that wasn't the only reason."

My eyes flared. "Want to tell me the other reasons, then? I mean-"

"It isn't that simple." B abruptly interrupted me, turning around and meeting my smoldering gaze with a cold, hard one. He was no longer smirking; he was frowning. "You do not and will not ever understand, so please don't try to."

"Please?" I nearly laughed. "The murderer is trying to be polite. How considerate. You weren't saying please when you pulled the trigger back and ended Ace's life. No, you could care less about being polite about that."

"Phoenix, do not be ridiculous. Murder is murder. Saying please will not change the outcome." His gaze hardened even more. "While we're still on the topic, I hope you are aware that this is a little secret between you and I, and it will stay that way."

I actually laughed that time, not out of amusement, out of anger. "Are you on drugs? There is no way that I'll ever make a deal with you about this."

"Are you sure?" he murmured softly, and I sensed that he was planning something.

"Completely. I'm not going to hide a murder."

"Hmph," B grunted in faux disapproval. "This can prove to be unfortunate for you."

I was about ready to rip my hair out of my head. What is wrong with this guy? He never talks to anyone, but when he does I get this? I was so enraged at this point that I was talking through clenched teeth. "How so?"

"Let's see..." He leaned against the bunk bed, his head laying against the top mattress and his knee popping out forward. "We can both agree that I am immensely more intelligent than you are. If L needed a successor, he would check the other twelve candidates before choosing you. Correct?"

"...Correct..." I said with much difficulty.

"Therefore, it is logical that I could create an alibi and a different attacker with much more ease than you. In simpler terms, I can turn this entire thing on you and make it look realistic."

I froze. Breathing, blinking, moving, everything just froze. He was right. But... evidence was evidence, right? Whammy's own children would be filing in A and B's dorm in the morning to try and solve the case faster than the police themselves. One slip-up could prove noteworthy to B's innocence. On the other hand, people far less intelligent than B have enough common sense to not leave physical evidence... Maybe they can nail him with circumstantial evidence?

"Ahem." B cleared his throat and interrupted my thoughts. "I realize that you are thinking of different ways to arrest me, but allow me to tell you one of the many different scenarios that I have come up with in my head."

I didn't answer.

"I will tell you anyway. You see, you were here before, during, and after the murder. You know crucial key evidence that only I, the murderer, would know. Because of this, it is just as possible that you are the murderer as I am." B smirked. "But here's the catch. I have a collection of physical evidence that I could plant in your dorm, in your backpack, in your clothes... I can associate any of the physical evidence with you if I suspect that you are thinking of turning me in. All it would take is for me to place my latex gloves under your bed and for me to place an anonymous report at the police station. You would never know that it's coming. I would be off the hook, and you would be in jail."

"Wouldn't it be a bit suspicious of you to randomly come up with that information?" I inquired, desperate for something to fight this murderer with. "Besides, I could just leave here and go see Roger now. Why in the world would I wait until morning to tell someone about this? For all I know you could do something with the body."

B shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Hmm, I suppose you have a point. But I also know a little secret about you."

"And what would that be?"

He smirked sinisterly. "You are on your second strike, isn't that right, Phoenix?"

"Well, yes, it is true that I am on my second strike, but I really don't think that Roger would kick me out of Whammy's because of that. After all, I'm turning in a murderer," I pointed out with crossed arms.

B nodded in mock understanding. "Yes, I suppose you might have a point. But what if you don't? We both know that Roger isn't too fond of children and only keeps this job for the amount of money Mr. Whammy pays him. Which, if you were unaware, isn't meager."

"That goes back to the point I just made. It is unlikely that Roger would kick me out for witnessing a murder. He would most likely rather have me out in the middle of the night wandering the orphanage than in bed. Because if I was sleeping then we wouldn't have someone to convict." I was starting to feel more confident. Just a little. B is right when he says he can gather enough evidence and place it in just the right way that it would look like I did it. But in the end there is only one true killer. It isn't possible to mask a murder forever… Right?

"Hmm. I suppose you win this round, Phoenix." He played with his bottom lip. "But you haven't won the war. I'm only looking out for you when I tell you that it isn't in your best interest to turn me in."

I snorted. "Best interest my ass."

"Ah, I see. You don't trust me. Allow me to demonstrate."

In a split second I found my body thrown against the hardwood floor, my arms and legs flailing out, desperate for something to grasp onto. I felt a weight on my right shoulder and both of my thighs which was keeping me immobile. In all the confusion, I didn't notice a shiny, black revolver being put to my head until my temple felt the chilling metal. I halted all movements.

B was glowering down at me. His gaze wasn't angered, but it was blank, cold, and intense. It made me shiver under my clothes just as the coldness in my dorm earlier had. The blood on his face was still smeared and reminded me of the chilling events that had just occurred. As if I could ever, ever forget, though.

"You see why this is in your best interest?" B whispered in my ear, his hot breath making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "I can just as easily kill you and disguise it as I could with Alternate. Do not underestimate me, Phoenix. That will be your downfall."

I clenched my teeth and bit back a sarcastic remark as the murderer looked down at me smugly. In my current situation, trying something stupid would prove to be deadly for me. Normally if someone threatened to end my life I wouldn't believe them, but something in the tone of his voice told me he wasn't bluffing. And it's hard to argue with the revolver placed against my temple.

The weight lifted off of my body, and the gun left my head. B leaped back onto his feet in one swift move, staring down at me coldly. I followed in suit much slower, glaring at him in the process.


End file.
